


Trials

by bubbysbub



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbysbub/pseuds/bubbysbub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo understands the challenge of literary exchange.</p>
<p>A humorous look at Bilbo the writer struggling with those things we call words. He has a holiday challenge to meet, and Thorin is NOT helping!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, because this was rather last minute, dear peeps. Forgive me mine errors.

'Twas the night before Erujöl, and all through the mount, not a creature was stirring, not even a hog.'

"What on earth are you doing?"

Bilbo cursed as ink splashed across his previously pristine parchment, and favoured Thorin his most ferocious glare. Foolish creature that the dwarf was, he did not seem much intimidated.

"I am writing, what does it look like I am doing?" Bilbo said waspishly, attempting to mop the spill with his now-ruined handkerchief. 

"Your rhymes don't rhyme," Thorin said, prodding at the parchment Bilbo had been laboriously printing his verse across.

"It's not done!" Bilbo smacked at Thorin's hand until he moved his great blinkin' sausages away from his creation.

"What is it for?" 

Bilbo harrumphed and mumbled under his breath, still sponging at the spill. 

"What was that?" Thorin asked, amusement evident as he sprawled becomingly -and quite unfairly, that- in the chair next to Bilbo's lovely oaken desk.

" I _said_ ," Bilbo replied, "that my cousin Belsa is quite fond of poetry, and since some of us more academically inclined have decided to form a sort of... _club_ , I suppose you'd call it, well..."

"Go on," Thorin encouraged, not-so-subtly trying to slide some of Bilbo's previously scribbled on parchments from the pile. Bilbo smacked at his hand and rearranged the pile.

"We decided that we would have a gift exchange."

"A what?"

Bilbo sighed deeply, taking a swipe at Thorin's paw making another attempt at his pile of work. Honestly, it was like he wasn't aware of the fact that his hand was twice the size of Bilbo's own. _Nobody_ could miss that great appendage.

"A gift exchange. We all receive the name of a person within the group, and we write them something... festive. We're calling it the Hobbit Holiday gift exchange."

Thorin regarded him seriously for a long, long moment.

"I suppose you don't like your cousin Belsa very much, then," he said finally, and then started to grin. Bilbo looked puzzled.

"No, I adore her, why wo- OH! You _horrid creature_ ," he hissed, smacking at a now chortling Thorin. "This is _first draft_ material, it's never any good! Will you stop laughing!"

"You c-could send her a pendant instead," Thorin managed, through laughter that was fast becoming belly-deep guffaws at the sight of Bilbo's ire.

"Out!" Bilbo bellowed. 

"Ori could give you a hand," Thorin managed, holding his stomach as Bilbo pushed with all his might to shove him through the door of his study.

"OUT!" he yelled, shoving as hard as he could. Thorin stumbled as he howled, and went the few steps necessary to cross the doorway.

"Wars have started for less," Thorin wheezed.

"I hate you so much," Bilbo said calmly, and slammed the door.

***

"In here again?"

Bilbo flailed, and almost took out the ink pot, though a few drops splattered when he fumbled to save it from falling. He favoured Thorin his most ferocious look of indignation.

"Do you know what decent ink costs? Or fine parchment? Or good cotton handkerchiefs, for that matter?" he asked waspishly. 

Thorin ignored him in favour of attempting to read the words Bilbo was hastily covering with scrap parchment and his own arms.

"Are you still attempting to divine the secrets of rhythmic alliteration?" he asked, far too amused for Bilbo's taste.

"What was that? Did you say you'd like to sleep in Dwalin's spare bunk for another few days?" 

Thorin grinned, but said nothing, taking a seat on his spare chair. Why did Bilbo even _have_ a spare chair? Obviously, if it was encouraging unwanted visitors, it would have to go.

"Please tell me your latest attempts still have references to hogs within them," Thorin asked after a long moment of Bilbo glaring at him silently.

"I will murder you in your sleep," Bilbo said seriously.

Thorin made a strangled noise that he tried to pretend was not a laugh. 

_Horrible_ creature.

"Goats are good, too," Thorin tried, hand holding his face like it might prevent Bilbo from seeing his glee.

"Out," Bilbo said flatly.

"Llamas?"

"OUT!"

***

Bilbo absolutely _did not_ flail in shock the next time Thorin stomped in when he was writing, because he had turned his desk to face the door, and flailing would have been slightly pathetic. 

He didn't. No matter how amused Thorin looked at his definitely-not-a-flail.

"Still at it?" Thorin asked innocently. Bilbo still hadn't gotten rid of that damn spare chair. Bugger it.

"I don't believe that is any of your business," Bilbo said snottily. The only reason he was tolerating the dwarf in his study was because the sod had brought a tea tray with him. That was all!

"It's going to be the holidays after this one, by the time you are done," Thorin said, carefully pouring the tea, and adding the ridiculous amount of sugar that he preferred in his own cup. 

Bilbo mumbled something non-committal and barely words, and stuffed a biscuit into his mouth.

Thorin was grinning around his tea. Bastard.

"Writing is hard!" Bilbo insisted, almost losing his tea when he waved his hand -with teacup- through the air in frustration. Thorin made a grab for it.

"Is it really?" Thorin asked, and he sounded so sincere! Bilbo knew better.

"I see you grinning behind that teacup, you git. It is not helpful."

A strangled noise made itself known from behind that teacup, but Thorin's face was serene when the teacup made its way back to the saucer.

"I gather there have been difficulties?"

"Are you making fun of me?" Bilbo asked suspiciously. Thorin still looked far too amused, so he stole both of the last two biscuits.

Thorin nicked one back, and grinned, unrepentant.

"Would I make fun of you, love?" he asked innocently.

"Of course you would," Bilbo said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Go on, then. Have a laugh at my misfortune."

Thorin obliged, with a few hearty chortles of delight, before he leaned to take the growing stack of parchment off Bilbo's table.

"How much of this are you sending," he asked, eyes a little agog at how thick the stack was.

"At this stage? None of it," Bilbo sighed morosely. "I'm not much good at it any more. I've lost my muchness, Thorin. I cannot write anything worth reading!"

A hum was about the only answer he got at this stage, Thorin being quite busy flicking through the sheets in his hand, occasionally giggling at something or other he came across.

Finally, he pulled a few sheets out of the pile.

"All jokes aside, my sweetness, these really are quite good."

"No they aren't," Bilbo sighed.

"Yes, they are," Thorin chuckled, and then promptly dumped the lot on the table, in order to scoop Bilbo onto his lap in a protesting heap.

" _Ack-_ , Thorin! Will you stop," Bilbo complained half heartedly, when his dwarf proceeded to cover his face in dozens of quickly peppered kisses.

"Did you enjoy the writing?" Thorin asked him unexpectedly, in between one kiss and the next.

"What?" 

"Did you have fun?"

"I... suppose that I did?" Bilbo mused slowly, absently pecking a kiss onto Thorin's beak of a nose while he thought on it. "It has been an enjoyable distraction from the ridiculous one-upmanship you've been indulging in with Thranduil."

Thorin ignored the dig, save for a small squeeze and a ticklish rub of his beard into Bilbo's sensitive neck.

"And remind me again, why you chose to form this club of yours?"

"We are all very interested in literary pursuit," Bilbo said, wiggling to get a little more comfortable. "Where most Hobbits are not. As a people, we enjoy stories, of course, but we usually disseminate them over a tankard or two, rather than laboriously printing them onto parchment."

"And I am guessing that your writer friends have just as hard a labour, sometimes, finding the right words? Would they not?" Thorin asked, quietly, gently, and Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes.

"Yes, fine, be all logical and reassuring. How am I supposed to remain irritated with you when you behave thusly?"

"Your cousin will enjoy your prose, and even if she does not, surely she shall appreciate the effort you have gone to, regardless? She will understand the labours of a writer."

"I mean it, Thorin, how am I to maintain my cross snarkiness, if you be so, so..."

"Right?" Thorin finished for him with a wicked grin.

Bilbo sighed again.

"Oh, you're horrible. How dare to be so rational in the face of my ongoing snit? I was having an awfully good time with it, too."

"I'm terribly sorry I ruined your sulk, my love. Can you ever forgive me?" Thorin pouted, ridiculously so. How was Bilbo supposed to _not_ coo in delight at that adorably jutting out lip?

Nothing to do but kiss it. 

"Alright, you have made a fine and fair point. I should embrace the fun I am having with my gift giving, and not worry terribly about other's impressions of my work."

"Mmm, that is one of my points. Not the main one, but yes."

"What's the main point then?" Bilbo asked, eyes narrowing at the humour dancing in pretty blue eyes.

"Mostly? That it would be lovely if you would call this literary exercise done, and come and pay attention to me," Thorin said, grin peeking through before he'd even managed to finish the sentence.

"Murder you in your _sleep_ ," Bilbo promised, but he didn't object -well, much beyond a yelp of surprise- when Thorin hoisted him up and carried him to their chambers.

Eh. He could always murder him another night.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Does anybody sympathise with poor Bilbo?


End file.
